Redemption
by ladyofdarkstar
Summary: Pre-ROTF: Pieces of the All-Spark have fallen into human hands. Now the Autobots and Decepticons find themselves using humans to retrieve them. Syrie Witwicky is enlisted to help the Autobots and not everybot is happy about it. Read & Review means love!
1. Chapter 1 Astorre

A/N: Pre-ROTF: With the All-Spark shattered and Megatron out of the picture (for the moment) Starscream has taken command of the Decepticons. His first order of business: finding the scattered pieces of the All-Spark. To do that, he's followed the example of the Autobots and enlisted the aid of humans--organized crime humans to be precise. Syrie, an ex-thief trying to go straight, finds out just how bad that can be when attempting to pull off her last job…

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**Somewhere outside of Las Vegas...**

Staring down the barrel of a .45 really isn't the way I wanted to finish off my evening. But then again, when did I ever get anything I wanted, anyway? Lady Fate and I had long ago come to the agreement that she was going to screw me every chance she got and I was going to bend over and like it. Not exactly the best working relationship the world had ever seen, but it beat the alternatives. Death was always a bad alternative, no matter which way you looked at it.

I tried to keep that last thought in mind as my vision swam in and out of focus. The left side of my face itched terribly, dried blood caking it from the gash just below my hairline. My arms were numb and would have been useless even if I could feel them. With my hands handcuffed behind my back, and then cuffed to the steel back of my chair, my arms were pretty much out of the 'assistance category.' My legs weren't the best of help either. Hard to walk or run with the room spinning in hellacious circles.

Oh, sorry. It wasn't the room spinning. It was my head.

"No you don't," said a rather emotionless male voice from behind me. A rough hand grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head backwards. "You don't get to sleep until the boss gets to talk to you."

The world did another of those rolling hick-up things as he pulled my head back, and a fresh wave of nausea flooded me. I hadn't realized I was slumping forward again. "Better tell him to hurry," I half-gasped out. "I think I'm going to be sick soon, and if I do, there's nothing in this world that is going to keep me awake, buddy-boy."

"Sick?" Buddy-boy asked, seeming surprised at my answer.

I tried to nod, and then thought better of it. "Yeah, sick. You know, from the concussion I'm obviously suffering through. Or did you not realize how hard you and your boys hit me."

Buddy boy looked over my head at the other two men in the room. I'd called them Fat Man and Little Boy since none of the above had wanted to give me their names. Fat man—easily carrying about 400 pounds on him—held the .45 pointed at me. I called the other one Little Boy, even though he was about six feet tall, just because he had a boyish face and rather nice grin. I would have told him as much had we not been exchanging blows about twenty minutes ago. His tux still sported red splotches from my blood and his.

Little Boy shuffled his feet a bit under the gaze of Buddy Boy. That almost made me smile. Apparently, they really didn't know how hard they had hit me, and they were going to pay the price if I died before 'the boss' showed up. Suddenly the .45 in Fat Man's hand didn't seem all that threatening. I giggled. I couldn't help it.

"You should have thought of that before you tried to rob us," Buddy-Boy said, and pulled back on my hair again, stretching my neck backward until it almost popped painfully. His other hand reached toward my face with a small pen-light.

I winced and tried to pull away, my eyes trying to focus on the light even with my best intentions otherwise. He wasn't holding the light too steady and the motion made my stomach roll. "Like I said before," I said through gritted teeth as he tried to check my pupils. "I didn't have a choice."

The offending light vanished, and Buddy Boy let go of my hair. Between white bursts in my vision, I saw him scowl slightly. "Do yourself a favor and think of a better excuse than that for the boss. You'll get one chance to answer before you start to hurt. Save yourself the trouble and tell him the truth."

The truth? Yeah, right. The last thing these goombas wanted to hear from me was the truth. Yes, I had broken into their vaults. But I wasn't there to steal the money, or to wave around the laurel of beating the machinations of the famous Astorre Aprile. I was looking for a single tiny piece of black stone that one of his guests had deposited in the vault. And the very last thing they would want to know was why I wanted it. Somehow I think they'd believe I wanted to eat it for dinner before they'd believe the real story.

"Tell him the truth," I repeated aloud. "Oh, okay. Sorry, I got lost. Was looking for my room."

Fat Man snorted. "Yeah, right. Couldn't find the way so you decided to repel down the elevator shaft? Maybe use high tech torches and chloroform mixes to get through the rest of the security systems?"

"Uhhhhh… I lost my key?" I managed a smile at the way his face darkened, and decided to change tactics. If I couldn't pass out yet, I wasn't going to make their wait with me any easier. "Exactly, Fat Man. I'm the direct sort. Why go the long way when I can go right through the center of the Bellagio?"

Fat Man didn't like his name. I could tell by the way that his meaty hand curled into a fist. _Bring it_, I dared him. _Swing at me, Fat Boy. And after you kill me, I'll be waiting in hell to kick you ass in return. Trust me, it won't be a long wait. _

Fat Man took a step forward as if reading my thoughts and taking up the challenge… and then stopped as the door beside him opened. He immediately lowered his eyes and stepped back against the wall again, the barrel of the gun pointing to the floor. One hand—the one that was about to strike me—grasped his wrist, and his eyes rose to meet mine.

Indifference was written there, as if someone had taken a cloth and wiped away the film of his rage. Maybe someone had. That thought didn't make me feel any better.

The man that walked into the room was about my height, about five foot six, give or take a few inches. I couldn't be sure I was accurate, what with my head splitting and my vision almost doubled. Regardless, it wasn't his height that was impressive. The stature of the man was what caught my attention, and I understood in part as to why my captors differed to him. Power seethed around him like a heady aroma of wealth and intelligence, his aura washing over me as surely as his eyes surveyed the room.

I didn't want to screw with this man. Somehow I just didn't. And the fact that he was aware of my existence in the world didn't make me any happier.

It took me a moment to snap out of my staring fit and remember I wasn't here to gawk at Astorre Aprile, the man rumor said was the "true wealth behind Las Vegas." He had been kind enough to take time out of his busy schedule to torture the shit out of me, and I was here to take it like a bitch. I almost asked him if he knew Lady Fate personally. The irony was almost too much to resist.

A young woman stood at Aprile's side, as slender and lovely as the twin guns holstered beneath her shoulders. She had long blonde hair, dark eyes and a rose-bud mouth. She looked pleasantly amused at the situation, smiling warmly at my three captors like this was some sort of little family get-together. Maybe it was. Who knew?

She took the time to help Fat Man navigate a lovely leather armchair into the room, standing politely beside it as Astorre sat. I decided to call her Sunshine.

What I wanted to call Aprile wasn't repeatable.

"So…." I said roughly into the silence. "Let's get the show on the road. You ask me questions I can't answer, and I scream loudly as your boys work me over. That's how this thing works, right?"

Astorre squinted his eyes at me a moment. "Fat Tony," he said, eyes never leaving my face. "What happened to the young lady?"

Fat Man stepped forward. "The Bull happened," He replied, voice as neutral as I'd ever heard it. "She… resisted the arrest Anthony was puttin' on her."

Aprile nodded. "I see… Anthony, why were you arresting her?"

This time Little Boy stepped forward. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Two grand said Fat Tony's name was really Anthony as well. I was almost willing to bet that Buddy Boy behind me was an Anthony, too. Yes, Lady Fate was a bitch, alright. I got beat up by Anthony and Anthony, and was probably going to be tortured to death by the Anthony behind me. Could this have become anymore Godfather-ish?

"She was in the vault of the Bellagio," Anthony 'The Bull' answered. "We figured out she repelled down the elevator shaft, used some kind of torch and a lot of other … stuff… to bypass security."

Again, Aprile nodded. "Well, Miss…?" he trailed off, waiting for my name.

"Smith," I replied. It wasn't my real name, but wasn't going to give him anything for free.

"Smith," he echoed, a slight smile tugging at his lips a moment. "Miss Smith, why did you break into my vault?"

"Because you don't hold tours?" I asked mock-innocently, and then screamed as Buddy Boy slipped his hand against the back of my neck, somehow pinching the nerves there. White spots exploded behind my eyes, my mind reeling.

"Enough," Aprile said smoothly, his voice carrying over my screams. The pain stopped, but my body continued to quake, echoes of that searing pain flooding my nervous system. Aprile seemed not to care or notice. "I am sure you've been warned that I don't have a lot of time to waste on this matter. Answer the questions. I'm only gonna ask you one more time. What were you doing in my vault, Miss Smith?"

Buddy boy's hand rested against the back of my neck, a cold warning that things were going to get worse if I didn't start talking. I took a few moments to close my eyes, gasping in as much air as I could. The pain seemed to help, ironically enough, clearing my head. The room swam into focus, bright white tile on the walls and floor. I was willing to bet that there was a drain on the floor somewhere. There was a tray beside me, various surgical instruments laid out with the precision of a doctor. Apparently, Buddy boy was well trained in whatever the hell he was going to do to me.

My eyes flickered back to Aprile, feeling his own boring into me. He wanted the truth, and suddenly I didn't want to lie to him. What was the point? He was going to kill me anyway, so might as well lay out my sob story. With any luck he might actually be moved enough to help me.

"I wasn't breaking into your vault to steal anything that belongs to you," I said, lowering my eyes. "Someone stole something from me, a black chip of stone with some kind of ancient writing on it. They stashed it here in your vault. It's imperative that I get it back."

I looked back up at him. He sat as calmly as before, silent and waiting for me to continue. I sighed. Christ, he was going to make me tell him everything. So much for holding onto any dignity before I died screaming. "Look, just give me the stone and you'll never see me again, alright? Just hand it over or kill me and get it over with."

"First, you are not in the position to demand anything of me," Aprile began, a slight edge in his tone. "And secondly, I don't appreciate your tone. I don't take that from my Family, and I'm not going to start with you. If you have something negative to say, smile first. Now, tell me why I should give you something that belongs to one of my guests?"

I must have looked at him like he had grown a second head. Was he for real? Was he for _freaking_ real? Did he not know where we were? I didn't know if anyone gave him the memo, but this was Interrogation 101, not Miss Manner's Charm school.

Buddy boy's thumb pressed against the nape of my neck, his hand pushing me forward until my arms were stretched painfully behind me and the path of my spine was visible. Something cold and hard, something that felt like a steel bar pressed against my exposed back. A humming sound started, and I had only a second to snap my eyes shut and grit my teeth. Regardless of what you see in the movies, that did nothing to blunt the pain.

Scream after scream tore free of my lips, his hand on my shoulder holding me rigid, helpless to endure the torture. My mind spun, my limbs vibrating as the electric current ran through my body. I had time for one stay thought to click into place inside my head. Those cold hands of Buddy boy's? They weren't just cold. They must have been covered with thick rubber gloves to keep the electricity from bouncing out of me and into him. Then I couldn't think anymore. All I could do was scream.

I opened my eyes slowly, consciousness returning to me in painful waves. Cold tile pressed against my cheek, my pulse thick in my ears. The chair I was tied to must have over turned. I wasn't sure.

Shapes swam in and out of my vision, nothing focusing for long. My body twitched, muscles still jumping from electrical overload. I couldn't hear anything other than the beat of my heart, and I was grateful to hear even that. It meant I was still alive. It meant there was still a chance I could get out of this and save my cousin.

"Who is your cousin?"

"Sam," I thought back to the voice in my head…or was it out loud? Did I say that out loud? Was I gasping the glorious 'I'm alive. I can save my cousin Sam' out loud?

I didn't know, couldn't know. But if answering the questions made the pain stop, I was all for it. I wasn't a spy or a solider. I had no pain suppression training. I was just a stupid thief who had wanted to save her cousin and got in way over her head. I had thought I could handle torture, thought I was tough enough and loved my cousin enough to endure anything. Apparently, the old saying was true. Everyone breaks under torture.

"Tell me, who is your cousin really, and why do you need this particular black rock to save him?"

"No," I whispered aloud, trying to ball up on myself. I couldn't tell him about Sam. I'd rather die than drag anyone else into this mess. I was ashamed that I had said as much already.

The world rocked violently around me and righted itself with a harsh, metallic scrape. I was suddenly sitting upright, a hand on my face holding my head steady. Someone had to, or it would have rolled back on my neck. My muscles felt like they were made of acidic jelly.

I heard Aprile chuckle. "You've impressed me, kid. Not many take as much as you without breaking. And still you refuse me. Why?"

I blinked at him, trying to work moisture back into my mouth. "Why what?"

"Why do you refuse me?"

"Family."

He paused and squinted at me again. "Family?"

"Yes, family."

"Gonna elaborate for me?"

"Why?" I asked this time.

"Because I'm asking nicely. That doesn't happen often for someone in your shoes."

I felt Buddy boy shift behind me, heard him pick up something from the tray of surgical instruments. The whimpers left my lips before I could stop them… and so did my words. God, help me, but I couldn't shut up, not with the promise of more pain in my future if I did. "Sam's my cousin. Someone has him. They want the rock in exchange for him."

Aprile pursed his lips. "Sorry to hear that, kid. I'd hoped you could give me something more to work with. As it stands, I've wasted enough time on you today," He stood, and lit a cigar. "Vito, Anthony. Take care of this matter for me, and then meet me in my office. We've got work to do."

For the second time that day, my vision exploded in a cascade of sparks and other things. Screams filled my ears, and it took me a moment to realize that they weren't coming from me. In fact, the sparks in my vision weren't just in my head. They were all around me, and they were directed at Aprile and his merry band of jackholes.

Hope flared to life in my heart, a brief fleeting thing that quickly faded. I didn't know what to hope for as the sounds of gunfire echoed around me. I was literally a sitting duck. Any stray round was going to end me quicker than lightning. All I could do was pray that I caught one between the eyes. At least that would end the pain.

I was so far gone that I didn't flinch when something tore the roof off of the place. Harsh cold air hit me, the dry scent of the Nevada desert mixed in with the aromas of burnt plaster and gunfire. I had a moment to glimpse the stars, to see them without the filter of smog or the lights of the city to dim their glow. It let me know that we were in the deep desert somewhere around Vegas. It also let me have a moment of peace before my concussion got the better of me.

Because now I was hallucinating. I had to be. Either that, or someone had brought Mobile Suit Gundam to life without telling the rest of the world. I was staring up at some kind of giant robot, some kind of… mecha. It was the only way I could describe it. It peered down at me with the most amazing blue eyes I had ever seen. Funny, how in my misery and pain, I could take a moment to think that its eyes were beautiful. They reminded me of stars I'd just glimpsed, so clear and burning white-blue.

Yeah, I had to be dying if I was waxing poetic about a giant robot's eyes and not freaking out about the fact a _GIANT FREAKING ROBOT_ was staring down at me.

"Syrie Witwicky?" He asked me. I knew it was a 'he' because of the tone of voice.

"Yeah," I managed to choke out. I figured that he was my hallucination. Why shouldn't I talk to him?

"Don't be alarmed. I'm here to help you."

Normally I would have said something suitably sarcastic, but the sleep of unconsciousness was calling, and I didn't have the strength to fight it anymore. He reached a huge metallic hand towards me and I saw his mouth move again, the words lost to the blackness that was eating at my vision. Suddenly my arms and legs were free… and just as suddenly I was plunging into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2 Sam

I knew only two things as consciousness reclaimed me: My memory of a white-tiled room had not been a nightmare, and I was still in deep shit.

Most sanely logical people would have jumped to the conclusion that they were still alive upon opening their eyes. With that little nugget of hope in mind, they would have started to figure out a plan to stay that way. I harbored no illusions of the kind. I knew I was dead the moment Anthony the Bull's right cross had sent me spinning into the wall hours ago.

When my head hit the steel plating of the vault and my vision started to fade to black, I had said my final prayers to the almighty. Opening my eyes in Aprile's torture chamber had been a mild surprise. I should have known he just wouldn't have had a clip emptied into my sorry ass to be done with me. Of course they were going to interrogate me.

And so my mind didn't count waking up this time as truly being alive. I counted it as borrowed time. The only question remained to ask was why. Why did Aprile want me alive? I shoved the question to the back of my brain. He'd answer it for me in his own time. For the moment, I needed to find out where I was—exactly—and how much of me was left.

"You're awake," someone said in a relieved sort of way. "How are you doing?"

I frowned at the voice and cracked open an eye, taking the time to let it focus. I was in what looked like a hospital room complete with the usual sterile furniture. Visitor's chair, crappy TV mounted somewhere above me and on the opposite wall, tiny dresser, and a desk of some sort with a tiny stool. The only light came from above and behind me, bright rays of the sun spilling through a large window, if I hadn't missed my guess.

Two doors were on the left wall, probably leading to a closet and a bathroom. The one door on the right most likely lead out to a hallway and armed guards. Aprile didn't strike me as the type to underestimate anyone. The fact that I went toe-to-toe with one of his enforcers—and held my own for a bit—probably hadn't escaped his notice, either.

"Can you hear me?" repeated the voice, a bit more insistently. There was a hint of concern in there, too, which was surprising.

I opened my mouth to reply, closing it when all that left my lips was a croak. My lips felt parched, the back of my throat like it had been coated with something thick and coppery-tasting. Most likely my blood, but I pushed that thought away too. One horror at a time. I licked my lips again and tried not to frown. I was very thirsty, which lead me to believe I'd been out for a while. That was never a good thing.

"Yeah," I croaked out, blinking up at my visitor.

He didn't look like any of Aprile's men. In fact, he had a pleasant smile to go with his soothing voice. Dark hair framed a thirty-ish face, and dark eyes like warm chocolate made him seem old and young all at the same time. He wasn't dressed in an expensive suit or tux. Just a white lab coat with the name _Dr. Edgars, Lieutenant_ stitched over the chest pocket. Was this some kind of trick? Why would Aprile put me in the hospital after he told his guys to kill me?

And then the lovely curtains of denial parted, and the memories flooded in. The fight in the vault, the interrogation, the house in the middle of the desert, the roof peeling back like it was made of paper. And the giant robot hand coming right at me.

"Shit," I swore softly, running my hands over my face. "Oh man, I wasn't hallucianting, was I?"

"If you're referring to the Autobots," Dr. Edgars put in gently. "I'm afraid not. You suffered a massive concussion complicated by a skull fracture, one that you're lucky to survive."

I peeked at him from between my fingers. "Car accident," I lied automatically. I had no idea how I'd gotten here, or how much this guy knew. I also had no freaking idea what an 'autobot' was, but if he was talking about one like it was an everyday thing, I could fake like it was, too.

Dr. Edgars lifted both eyebrows. "Really," he said, obviously not believing a word of it. "And all of your other previous injuries? Were those car accidents, too?"

"Yeah, I'm notoriously hard on cars," I said through my fingers.

Dr. Edgards continued to stare at me. I think he was hoping that his intimidating I-know-that's-crap-so-tell-the-truth-already stare that most doctors and police had would work on me. Fat chance. I'd been interrogated—the legal way, mind you—so many times now that it took a lot more than this guy to make me squrim.

"Okay," he said simply, picking up my chart from the end of the bed and making notes. "If you don't want to talk about it yet, that's fine. But I have to tell you, eletrical current applied directly to the spine isn't an accident of any kind. People don't accidently beat or torture you to death."

_You've obvioulsy never met any of my associates_, I thought with a smirk. But I let it go. See, I could be resonable at times.

"I've cleared you for breakfast," he continued, closing the chart and placing it back in it's little plastic holder. "Can you sit up and eat something?"

I thought about that a moment, and gently flexed my toes and shifted my legs. Nothing felt broken, an unexpected blessing. "Why? I'm not planning to hang around, Doc. Just give me my clothes and I'll get out of your hair."

"That's not going to happen, Miss Witwicky. There are questions that need answers first. Not to mention that you are in no condition to go anywhere."

I froze, slowly lowering my hands from my face. So much for that brief moment of relief thinking I was out of Aprile's hands. If this doctor knew who I was, then it was a safe bet to believe he worked for Aprile.

Whatever the good doctor saw in my expression made him take a step back. "You've got ten seconds to tell me how you know my name," I said.

Dr. Edgars recovered quickly, I'll give him that much. He also had brains enough to stay out of arm's reach of me. Concussion or no, I was going to get answers from him one way or another. Espeically with my family on the line if I didn't.

"We've known who you are for a while now," he continued, backing towards the door. He knocked on it once without looking away from me. "And I can assure you, we aren't here to hurt you. We're friends."

"Oh yeah?" I shot back. "Prove it. Let me out of here."

"How about I prove it in a way that will let you trust me and convince you to calm down all at once?"

The door opened before I could come up with something suitably snarky to say, and the last person in the world I expected to see here opened the door. "Hey cuz," Sam Witwicky said softly, worry etched on his face. "If you promise not to throw anything at my head, I'll explain everything."

"We'll explain everything," a deep, booming voice corrected above me.

My head jerked upward, staring at what I previously thought was a huge window. It was't. Not in the slightest. That entire part of the wall was just missing… as in it was never meant to be there. The wall simply stopped about eight feel up. Like someone had simply forgotten to put a roof on this structure. Above that was nothing but clear bright space leading up to a warehouse style ceiling. Peering down at me through that space with those same unearthly blue eyes was the mecha that I had seen in my hallucination.

Blue and red coloring covered him in places, and I got the sense that the colors were part of a pattern. Like a puzzle that would assemble in some way. There was another standing next to him, with the same kind of puzzle colors, but in yellow and black. I must have been gaping like an utter moron as I slowly laid back down.

"Sam?" I asked, my voice that lovely calm that comes before a complete mental breakdown.

"Calm down, Syrie," he said, running over to the bed and turning my face to his. "Look at me. They're not going to hurt you. They're not here to hurt any of us."

"Autobots, right?" I asked again, swallowing hard.

"The female's optics and hearing seem to be functioning correctly," said the yellow-and-black mech above me. "Though the deminishing of color in her skin indicates she might loose conciousness again."

I flicked my eyes back up at them, taking in deep breaths, trying real hard not to just start screaming in panic. Breathe in… breathe out… _I'm okay. I'm not going to pass out. I'm just hallucinating, or dreaming… or something. I'm okay. I'm not going to pass out… Sam is safe… I'm safe… I'm wit—_

And that was when reality caught up with me for a second time.

"Sam?" I asked again, this time staring wide-eyed at my cousin in disbelief. "Sam? You're okay? Good lord, how did you get here?" My hands cupped his face, my eyes searching his.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Calm down."

"But I got the message," I insisted, panic starting to fight through the shock of where I was and what had happened. "They told me they had you. They were going to kill you if I didn't give them the stone."

"Who told you this?" This, from the red-and-blue mecha.

"Hey, I'm asking the questions here, pal," I fired back. I could only freak out for so long before I started to get pissed. And personally, I preferred the anger to panic. "What the hell is my cousin doing here, and who the hell are you?"

"Syrie!" Sam repremanded me sharply. "Seriously, don't yell at Optimus. That's not a good idea."

"It's okay, Sam," said the red-and-blue mech, almost soothingly. I got the impression that my reaction happened more often than not around him. "I am Optimus Prime, and this is Ratchet, our medical officer. You are here for the same reason Sam is here, for protection."

"Protection," I echoed dumbly, trying to get the word make sense to me. "Protection from what?"

Optimus exchanged a look with Sam, and I had a feeling that I was missing some kind of private converstaion. "It's a long story, Syrie," Sam sighed, taking one of my hands in his.

"Well, isn't that a coincidence," I retorted, settling back against the pillows so I could keep both my cousin and the Autobots in my line of vision. "Since the good doctor over there has no intention of releasing me, I've got the time to hear it. Start talking, cuz. Make it good."

Again, Sam flicked a glance at Optimus and the autobot nodded once in return. "Remember my so-called school trip to the Hoover dam? Well, it wasn't a school fieldtrip…"


	3. Chapter 3 Explanations

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! You all are awesome! :D They have really encouraged me to finish this story. I might have made some spelling errors. For that, I apologize. Also, all the bad grammar is done on purpose. I'm trying to write from the point of view of Syrie, and she isn't the most tactful person on the planet.

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I have to admit, Optimus Prime broke it down for me in ways that I could actually understand. He was even kind enough not to take offense to the many times I interrupted him. Though I think once or twice he raised an eyebrow—if, indeed, he had eyebrows and that metal plate around his ummm…eye?... wasn't some kind of alien advanced targeting system lining up on me in annoyance—at the very colorful and explicit words I used to express my shock and surprise. Somehow I got the feeling that no one routinely asked him the question: "You've got to be shitting me, right?"

I may have blurted that out a time or fifteen. Possibly. Maybe.

Hey, don't judge me. You try getting nearly beat to death, electrocuted, tortured and then find out your savior is alien robot from a destroyed planet called Cybertron, who also happens to think your cousin is the neatest thing since sliced bread. You wouldn't have handled it any better. Trust me.

All things considered, I think I handled it very well.

"So, to recap," I said wearily, scrubbing a hand over my eyes for the millionth time. "The black stone is a piece of the All-Spark, the device that you—" I pointed at Sam. "—destroyed in order to keep Negatron—"

"Megatron," Optimus corrected gently.

"Megatron," I repeated. "Sorry, it's going to take me a bit to get used to the names. _Megatron_ wanted in order to transform human technology in a bid to take over the universe. Now these pieces are floating around the world somewhere and the Decepticons want to collect them all like some strange alien game of Pokémon."

Sam turned his head, politely coughing into his hand, trying to cover up yet another fit of laughter. This time Optimus and I sent him a rather unfriendly look in unison. His vast amusement at my attempts to understand the situation wasn't helping any. At least Big Red and I agreed on that part. Sam, being Sam, cheerfully ignored the look and flashed us both a winning smile.

"You might want to get that cough checked out," I told him dryly. "That sounds like it could develop into something serious. Like into my-foot-up-your-ass-itis."

That earned a chuckle from Ironhide, the black-armored behemoth of a mech that had moved up to join us. "I like this human," he said with a grin that would have scared the hell out of me if I hadn't just spent about two hours getting to know him. I don't think there was anything about him that _wasn't_ fierce. "She has a unique way of looking at the current situation. It may come in handy in battle."

"Sugar, if you only knew the half of it," I muttered, closing my eyes a moment. "Okay, so to finish the recap: you need the pieces before this Starscream character, who has taken over the Decepticons in the wake of Megatron's death, gathers them all. And you have no idea what he wants with them, but whatever it is, it can't be good. He tapped me for the job because of my ties to Sam, and made me believe he was holding Sam hostage until I gave him all the pieces. Am I right?"

Optimus nodded. "That is correct. By now he has heard of the altercation in the Nevada desert and of you being brought here. He will know that his plan has failed."

"Partly failed," I frowned, opening my eyes. "If this guy is as old and as evil as you've said, then he's isn't going to be stupid enough to tap just one thief for the job. He's probably got more operatives out there."

"That is a possibility we are considering," Optimus agreed, peering down at me again with those amazing blue eyes.

I had to stop myself from trying to get lost in that color. For some reason, I couldn't stop staring at them. Maybe it was a throw-back to my concussion. His eyes had been the only things that kept me sane and focused during my rescue. Otherwise, I think I would have started screaming and never stopped.

It took more effort than I would have liked to wrench my eyes from his. "It sounds like there is an unspoken 'but' after that sentence."

Again, he inclined his head and I heard Ironhide chuckle. "Very perceptive," Optimus said. "We are having difficulty tracking the activities of these thieves."

I chuckled this time. "We in the thieving field will take that as a high complement. The whole point is to not be caught or detected."

"Which is why we need your help, cuz," Sam interjected. "We've got to find out how many teams are out there working for the Decepicons. You're our best link at the moment."

That made me wince. "You do realize you are asking me to sign my own death warrant."

It was Ratchet's turn to blink once or twice in surprise. "How so?"

I shook my head, and then winced again at the pain that caused. Maybe the Doctor was right. I was in no shape to do anything more than sleep. And yet I was about to cut the deal of a lifetime. If I hadn't been in so much pain, I think I would have laughed. Aprile was going to be absolutely furious when he learned just what I was about to do.

"I want to see a Federal attorney before I say one more word on the topic," I said aloud. "I need some heavy freaking assurances about my personal freedom before I agree to divulge any information."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Two hours later, I was sitting upright in bed, signing documents with a hand that trembled. The first was an agreement to complete and utter immunity from prosecution for all my past crimes in the United States. And when I said _all_, I freaking meant everything from the day I was born up to the signing of this paper. The Federal prosecutor was practically purple, he was so livid. The free walk he was giving me was such a slap in the face to everything he stood for.

I tried really hard not to gloat in his face. That was harder than it sounded.

The second was an agreement for protection against any other country—regardless of their extradition agreement with the good ol' U.S. of A.—claiming a right to prosecute me for past crimes. If I was going to risk my life to save this world, then I was going to have at least one safe country to hide in. I figured what I was doing with the Autobots more than paid for my past crimes. I honestly didn't care what anyone else thought.

I was about to betray the proverbial den of thieves. When they found out I was giving trusted information about their operations to the American government, they were going to be beyond angry with me. I was expecting many a professional contract to be put out on my head before I could make them see reason. Convincing them that their new "boss" was a psychopathic alien robot that was planning on killing them when they were finished collecting the All-Spark pieces, was going to take time. If I didn't have to kill them first in self-defense, that is.

Man, this was going to so suck.

The third document was the one that pissed me off and caused my hand to tremble. It was also the only reason why the Federal Attorney had agreed to my demands. In exchange for all those pardons and protections, I was being drafted. _Literally_. The document that sat on the tray before me stated quite plainly that I was now the official property of the NEST branch of the military. I was to follow all rules, protocols, restrictions, yada yada yada… It was the only way the government felt justified in letting me run around free of charges.

It was also their assurance that I wasn't going to cut and run once they turned their back.

The Autobot called Prowl loomed over me, watching very carefully as I begrudgingly signed my name. He didn't like me. At all. The feeling was mutual. While I knew that I got on Prime's nerves with my flippant comments and absolute disrespect of command, he could at least overlook my past. Prowl couldn't. As he'd explained to me, he was programmed to follow the laws. And as I so untactfuly told him, I was born to break them.

We were a match made in hell.

The ink wasn't even close to dry before a thin beam of light extruded from Prowl's left eye, tracing over the document in mere seconds. "Scanning complete," he said aloud, eyeing me like one would eye an annoying yappy dog. "When you are repaired to the satisfaction of Dr. Edgars and Ratchet, you will report to me."

"For what?" I snapped before I could stop myself.

"You will upload the rules and regulations of this base to your processors. This is not negotiable."

"Oh hell," I heard Sam mutter with feeling, dropping his face into his hands. "Prowl, buddy. Now isn't the time—"

"Shove it, bright eyes," I replied to the mech, ignoring my cousin. "This paper says I report to Captain Lennox. Not you."

Prowl tipped his head to the side and gave me a smile every bit as fierce as Ironhide's. "Yes. And Captain Lennox works in conjunction with Optimus Prime. Both have entrusted me with the duty of compiling and enforcing the rules. Unless you wish brig time for disobeying a direct order from your superior, you will report to me at the designated time."

"Syrie, shut it!" Sam snapped, covering my mouth as my eyes narrowed and I started to tell the Autobot what he could do with his 'direct orders.' "Prowl, she'll be there."

Prowl nodded in agreement, and Sam waited until he was out of ear shot. Only then did he remove his hand. "You honestly need to get with the program, Syrie. This isn't a game. This is as serious as it gets. Provoking Prowl isn't going to help anyone."

I glared in the direction of the retreating mech. As much as I hated to admit it, Sam was right. "He hates me."

"No, he hates what you are."

"And that would be?" I prompted.

"A criminal."

"Ex-criminal now," I said sourly.

Sam shook his head. "Former or not, you still represent a threat. Remember, he's all about order and logic. You're like…" he struggled for the right words. "Like the physical representation of chaos. He's going to work with you because Optimus asked it of him. But he's not going to turn his back on you for a very, very long time. He's going to be watching you like a hawk."

"Wonderful," I sighed. "I have a robotic alien babysitter."

"Welcome to the club," Sam chuckled. "When you get well enough, I'll have to introduce you to Bumblebee."


	4. Chapter 4 Prowl

A/N: The delightful Hummergrey (and Prowl) have once again allowed me to use one of the rules in "IF AN AUTOBOT, DO NOT DO THE FOLLOWING" in this story. The main character may think that the rules are a waste of time and the like, but I would like to clarify that I absolutely LOVE that story (and Prowl) and the rules. The OC's point of view is not mine in any way.

If anything, I highly, HIGHLY recommend reading Hummergrey's fic. It has been the most fun I have had in a long time. Just thinking about it makes me giggle with glee.

In this story I am trying to show how a human can interact with the Autobots and NOT like them, the rules, the war, or anything about them at first brush. So the point of view of the main character may come off as horribly biased, brash, and downright rude. That, and her language, will change in time (well the biased part, anyway. I don't think Syrie understands the word 'polite.') as the story progresses. Thank you all who have stayed with me through this story. The reviews are always awesome and appreciated! :D

As always, I do not own Transformers, and am not making any money from this. Please don't sue!

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"You've got to be shitting me."

I slammed down the book in my hands, glaring hard at the black and white mech named Prowl. Figures that the guy—mech, whatever—would have chosen a police cruiser as his alt form while here on Earth. Near as I could tell, he had all the personality and sense of humor of one. Which was to say, he had none at all. At least none that I could detect.

But that might be my personal dislike of authority figures in general, and police officers in particular, shining through. Hey, we all have our flaws.

I tried very hard to ignore the police shields on his wings, or the way the paint design from the car transformed almost perfectly into a kind of uniform on his bi-pedal form. Reminded me of some space-age futuristic cop outfit that he could in no way take off. Not that I ever expected him to, mind you. I was pretty certain that this guy was never off duty, always protecting and observing the rules. Don't get me wrong, I was all for protection. I loved my life just as much as the next person. But some of the rules good guys like Prowl enforced were just plain ridiculous, even dangerous to my estimation.

And some rules just begged to be broken. Too bad he didn't share my point of view.

Prowl slowly lowered the data pad—which happened to be about a foot taller than me and wider than my outstretched arms—onto his desk. His blue eyes (optics, as I have been corrected time and again) narrowed at me for the umpteenth millionth time. I fought the urge to stick out my tongue at him. There was probably a rule against that somewhere, knowing him.

And speaking of knowing the bot in question…

Pissing off a fifteen to twenty foot tall mech with fists larger than my car wasn't the best of ideas on a good day. Pissing off said mech while just being released from the hospital didn't count as a good day. Adding in the fact that I was sitting on a chair on _top_ of a desk the size of a small yacht, and that said desk belonged to said mech, really wasn't stacking the odds in my favor. But I couldn't help it. This was _so _stupid.

"That is the twenty-fifth instance in which you have said that," Prowl commented. "And for the twenty-fifth occasion, I will ask you not to use profanity while in a conversation with me. What is the problem this time?"

"The same problem from the first time I slammed this thing down," I growled. "It's bullshit. None of these regulations apply to me."

"Language," he corrected me, mouth plates curving in a thin line of annoyance. "They apply to every member of NEST."

"Oh really?" I flipped open the book—okay, it was really nothing more than about one hundred and fifty pages stapled neatly in the upper right hand corner, but seriously, did they really need that large of a rules list? "So this one about the status and shapes of holographic drivers applies to me how?"

Prowl's head twitched slightly to the right. I wasn't sure if that was just an overworked gear in his neck or if it was indicative of the fact that he was about to pound my face into mush. I made a mental note to bone up on Autobot mannerisms. You know, learn the meaning behind little things like that head twitch. It might not mean anything, or it might mean everything. One never knew when dealing with an alien species. Knowing all about those mannerisms might come in handy later. Like, say, when I'm running for my life.

Because that little twitch was happening a lot lately, and usually every time I opened my mouth. I guess my second grade teacher was right after all: I could annoy the hell out of a stone statue given enough time.

Or in this case, annoy the hell out of a perfectly good, logically-minded, alien robot.

"It is necessary for all NEST members to be familiar with the complete rules set. It prevents complications in the field."

I snorted. "Yeah, okay. Well, tell you what, Prowl. Don't worry about me in the field. I take full responsibility for my own welfare. If I happen to see a holographic Decepticon or Autobot shaped like a carrot or the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man while in combat, I accept full responsibility for my actions, up to and including my death."

Prowl blinked this optics at me. "Death?"

"Sure," I continued, picking up the manual and pretending to page through it again. "I'm so dead if I see that. 'Cus I'm going to be rolling around on the ground laughing so hard that I won't be able to get out of the way. I'll just have to hope that my blood—after he or she or it steps on me, that is—will rust the foot-plating. Be like a Cybertronian athlete's foot fungus or something."

I snorted out some more laughter at that. Prowl didn't seem to think it was that funny. In fact, the Autobot wasn't smiling at all. He was just staring at me, like in a seriously creepy way. I knew that look well. I got it from more than my fair share of people, so it wasn't surprising to see it on an Autobot's face. It was the _you've-crossed-the-line-again-Syrie_ look.

"Dude. Prowl, you okay, buddy?" I sat up straight, actually feeling a touch of concern. There was the scent of smoke in the air, a single pop sound, and I saw one of his blue optics flicker and fade out. "Oh, hell."

I had just broken an Autbot. Not even a full twenty-four on the job and already I had injured a comrade. That was a record, even for me.

My hand was in my pocket in a flash, reaching for my shiny new NEST cell phone. I had all the personnel and Autobots on speed-dial now. Part and parcel of being added to the team. They still wouldn't let me have a gun, though, or bladed weapons of any kind. Ironhide said I had to earn those. What I wouldn't have given for a weapon right at that moment. Because I wasn't at all sure what was about to happen. We hadn't gotten to the part about what to do with a malfunctioning Autobot during my orientation.

I was still trying to remember which speed-dial number was assigned to Ratchet's internal comm. when Prowl suddenly stood up, nearly overturning the desk. "Hey, watch it, pal! Human standing here trying to get you some help!"

"Help is not nec-neccccessessary," Prowl replied, a slight blip in his voice. "Your suggestion has been received, analyzed, and found to be in direct violation of several procedural rules."

"Suggestion? What suggestion? Dude, I was jok—"

He extended an arm towards me. I watched in that kind of horrid fascination as a hatch popped open on his palm. A single whip-thin cord flashed out, heading right for me. That had a way of breaking my staring fit and I dodged to the right, diving behind my chair on reflex. How many times had I done this before, hiding from an explosive trap or from countless amounts of people out to arrest my sorry butt? Too many to count.

The only difference this time was that I didn't quite dodge fast enough. The cord wrapped around my left wrist and he began retracting it instantly, yanking me off my feet before I could even reach for the arm of the chair. A second cord caught my right wrist, spiraling around it nearly tight enough to cut off the circulation. I landed on my back hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs, arms stretched out over my head.

"It has been determined that you are in violation of Regulation 145.6."

I blinked up at him from my prone position, trying hard to get enough air in my body to respond. "What?"

He leaned over me, looking like some kind of demented and broken puppet brought to life, what with that one optic dark like it was. "Regulation 145.6 clearly states that any team member alluding to actions that could cause the death or injury of another team member should be removed from the team pending disciplinary measures."

"Dude, I think you fried something up in your logic center," I gasped, pushing myself into a sitting position.

That ended up being a bad move. Apparently he wanted me prone on his desk. One flick of his wrist and I was yanked back down, my head smacking into the metal this time. My vision swam before coming back into focus. "Look," I snapped angrily. "If you keep this up, I'm going to kick your ass once I get out of the medbay again."

Prowl gave another head twitch. "You require medical attention?"

"I will if you keep hurting me like this," I spat. "Then it'll be you and me facing _disciplinary measures _together."

He seemed to consider that a moment. "Your logic is sound," he said, and then rose to his full height.

Unfortunately, that also meant I was going for the ride. I was unceremoniously hoisted upward by my arms, dangling from Prowl's hand like some kind of marionette. I gaped at him, and then gaped at how far off the ground I was, and then gaped back at him again. If I fell from this height, it was going to be all over for me. No amount of tumbling or pleading or prayer was going to protect me from a fifteen foot fall onto poured concrete.

"You want to put me down—safely?"

"I will, once you are deposited in the brig."

"FOR WHAT?" I screeched in full annoyance, kicking at the air in my frustration.

"Regulation 145.6," was all he would say. No matter how many things I called him on the way to the brig.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"You really don't know when to quit, do you, cousin?"

I glared at Sam through the Negron bars, fighting the impulse to reach through them and grab him by the collar. Prowl had warned me not to try and approach the grid of bluish-purplish glowing rods before turning and heading out. They were designed to withstand Cybertronian weapons discharge and the Herculean strength of their kind. As I was the first human to be locked behind such bars, they were not quite sure what would happen if I tried to interrupt the energy flow.

Me, being the stubborn idiot that I was, had to try and prove him wrong. I had once boasted that there was no cage in existence that I couldn't escape from. I had told Prowl as much as he coded the bars closed and walked away.

The bandage on my left hand was the second bit of proof that I was wrong. The first being that I was still behind the bars and not running for my life.

"Why don't you come a little closer and ask me that again?" I asked sweetly.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, grinning. "Do I look that dumb?"

"You really want an answer to that?"

He sighed, the grin vanishing. "Syrie, what's it going to take for you to calm down and join the good guys for a change? Seriously, this is getting old."

"I don't like being told what to do." It was the truth, even if it did sound whinny to my ears.

The sigh turned into a sound of pure vexation. "What are you, five? For Pete's sake, Syrie. This is a war. This is dangerous and everyone relies on everyone else for survival. You HAVE to take orders or people could be hurt. That's what Prowl was trying to get you to understand."

"And that's why I always work alone," I shot right back, flopping down on the floor with my back against the wall. The, uh, shelf in my cell (something they called a 'recharge berth') was about six feet above my head. So the floor was really the only place I had to sit. "I don't do partners, not because they always dick you over in the end—and trust me, they do dick you over every single time—but because I don't want to worry about how my actions might impact anyone else."

"You don't have that option anymore."

"Says you."

Sam's eyes took on a grim light, like the weight of some kind of decision had just piled itself onto his shoulders. It made me uneasy, seeing such a look in his young eyes. He was barely out of high school, barely a man yet. And that look did not belong on the face of a young man.

"Yeah," he said, staring me in the eye. "Says me. I'm joining NEST, Syrie."

I was on my feet before I knew what I was doing, standing so close to those energon bars that I could feel the hairs on my body standing on end from the static discharge. "The hell you are," I snapped. "You're going to college somewhere nice and safe. I personally wired enough money into your account to get you through two years of Princeton and then some."

"_Stolen money_, which is why I'm not taking it. NEST is much like the Army. I serve four to six years with them and I get my Princeton education—the _legal_ way. They'll pay for it."

"Sam, be serious, here. This isn't something that you can walk away from. Once you're in, you're in."

"Do you think I don't know that? Or did you forget all about what I told you about Mission City? Look, I've made up my mind. I'm on the team. If you want any say over what happens to me, then you're just going to have to follow the rules. Neither Optimus nor Lennox will let you on any mission as long as you keep acting like this."

I watched him start to walk out of the brig. Somehow I knew that if he crossed that threshold without my saying something else, I would never see him again. I was trapped between my love for the only family I had left and my need for utter and complete independence. Trapped, trapped, trapped… and I hated it.

"Sam!" I ran my hands through my hair, closing my fists in it and yanking until I almost pulled it out by the roots. I couldn't believe I was actually going to do this. "You better realize how much this is costing me. But, fine. Tell whoever the hell you need to tell that I'm ready to cooperate. I'll sit through Prowl's regulation lecture or whatever, and I promise this time I'll pay attention."

Sam smiled at that, his true smile and not the coy one he used when he wanted to get his way. And then he keyed open the massive doors. Optimus Prime, the head honcho himself, walked through the doors. Two other mechs I had never seen before followed. Must be his entourage, I thought. Big guy like that didn't look like he needed bodyguards. But then again, I didn't think I could break an Autobot by being overly sarcastic, either. Look what happened to Prowl.

I backed away from the bars, watching as the three arranged themselves to look down at me. "I take it you were all listening," I bit out, crossing my arms over my chest. "Tell me this was a set-up and Sam hasn't lost what little brains he's got left and joined you guys."

Optimus shook his head, one controlled motion from left to right. "It is his decision to stand and fight alongside us. I will not take that away from him."

Had everyone lost their freaking minds, but me? "He's a kid!" I screeched.

"Hey!" Sam interjected, looking more than ticked at me. "I'm eighteen."

"And still a child by my reckoning," I fired back. "I don't care if the American government says that he's old enough to have five wives, paint his face purple and run for president. He's still a kid. You know what's out there and I don't want my cousin involved."

"He's already involved," one of the new bots put in, hands landing on his hips. "And Sam is mature enough to make up his own mind what he wants."

"Thanks, 'Bee," Sam said, patting the mech on the leg and continuing to glare at me.

"Sam has a guardian," Optimus affirmed, gesturing to his right. "This is Bumblebee, one of my faithful soldiers and a most loyal friend. He will serve with Sam on any mission assigned. Do not fear for his safety."

"Too late, Big Red," I snapped. "He's my blood. I'm going to worry about him until the day I die."

"Which may be sooner than you think if you keep this up," the other bot put in, glancing up at his leader. "Optimus, this is a waste of time. She's not going to cooperate. The brig's the best place for her kind."

"And what kind would that be, short-stuff?" Okay, I called him short-stuff simply because he was huge. Nearly as tall as Optimus. And I was pissy. Sue me. Though now that I took the time to notice, he wore the same red and blue colors of Big Red over there. Family relation, maybe? Did Autobots show familial ties in colors the way we did with last names? Maybe one day I would ask… when I wasn't yelling at them.

"I am Ultra Magnus, human. And what you are is inconsiderate, immature, and volatile. Everything that we do _not_ want on a mission where lives are at stake."

"Flattery gets you nowhere with me, Tiny."

Ultra Magnus shook his head, a disgusted sound leaving his vocal processor. "She isn't worth the time."

"What she is, is necessary," Optimus replied. "And I need you to be her guardian for the time being."

Both Ultra Magnus and I stared at him as if he had gone insane.


	5. Chapter 5 Optimus

A/N: Thank you all again for reviewing and making this a favorite or adding it to your alerts. :) It's a great feeling to know that someone appreciates the work that went into this story. ::Bounces about happily:: I apologize for taking so long to update. This story is very challenging for me, being in first person. I will try to update faster in the future.

I have probably dated myself with the references I have made in this story. LOL. I hope everyone has a good laugh at them as I had writing this.

As ever, I do not own Transformers, and am not making any money from this. Please don't sue.

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"No freaking way," I blurted out before thinking.

This was bad. Seriously bad. And I'm not talking "Ishtar" bad, but more like the idea of working with Ultra Magnus was probably the worst suggestion ever outside of spray-on hair, the Titanic, and Crystal Pepsi. I say this not only because I thought that the only think that sucked more than this moment was when Geraldo opened Al Capone's vault, but because Big Red's twin over there was completely ignoring me, rounding instead on the Prime, himself.

"You can't be serious," Ultra Magnus began, voice dropping dangerously low.

"I am," Prime replied, blue optics staring hard into blue optics. "Prowl originally volunteered for the assignment. However, certain aspects of her personality components have come to our attention. These aspects will not mesh with Prowl's primary programming."

"And so this human female's flaws are now my responsibility?" the mech fumed.

"Hey, speak for yourself, Tiny," I snapped, feeling more than a bit insulted. Just because I was behind bars and had an inability to keep my mouth shut didn't mean I was worthless. "I don't exactly like this situation any more than you do, but you don't see me pointing out the obvious."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Such as?"

He was good at being intimidating, I'd give him that much. There were probably mechs all through history that had run screaming for their sanity at such a look from him. But I wasn't phased in the slightest. I should have been, I knew, any intelligent creature worth their thoughts would have shut up and backed the hell down.

But I was never the smartest in my class, and I had had it with mech egos and rules for the day.

I shrugged, pretending to study the nails on my good hand. "Well I'm not one to nitpick, but if we are speaking hypothetically, I would probably mention that your ego was somehow bigger than you and Prime combined."

Sam groaned aloud, the big yellow mech at his side joining in that mournful sound. "That's it, I'm out of here," he said, not batting an eye as his guardian picked him up in one hand and made quickly for the door. "See you, cousin. If you ever get out of that brig and if Ultra Magnus doesn't pound you into paste."

"I would not do such a thing," Magus retorted indignantly, glancing back at me like I was a slug or something. "I wouldn't want to get any of that in my circuits."

"Oh, I agree," I added mock-sweetly. "We wouldn't want to do anything that might actually make you worth something, now would we?"

Ultra Magnus finally lost that last bit of restraint. I could tell because his optics nearly went red and weapons appeared in his hands out of nowhere. I was going to have to figure out where the Autobots hid those things. If and when I got out of this alive. I, too, took a step back, arms extended to my sides and a look on my face that was every bit as fierce as his.

"Bring it, bitch boy," I dared him. "You think this set up is easy for me? You think I like having my life ripped to pieces and then being forced into this situation? Please, if you think that then you really need to review your files on human interaction. I may be related to Sam, but that doesn't mean I'm going bend over backwards for you like he does. You want my respect, soldier boy, then earn it or step the fuck off."

"Enough, both of you," Optimus snapped, loud enough that both Magus and I sorta jumped to attention.

In our attempts at baiting one another, we must have forgotten the mech was in the room, apparently.

Optimus leaned down on hands and knees, trying to get eye level with me, I guess. It was hard for almost thirty feet of mech to do. I backed up until my back was against the wall. Something in those blue optics of his made me regret running off at the mouth. "Why do you behave in such a fashion, Syrie?" he rumbled. "Was it something we did to offend you?"

I stared at him a long moment, trying to figure out what he was driving at. He had to want something from me if he was trying to be that understanding, or at the very least he should have been reaming me up one wall and down the other for insulting his… whatever Magnus was to him. But then I realized the sincerity in his tone was serious. He was truly perplexed at my attitude.

I fought not to stare at him like he was insane. And also not to feel like such a jackass for my behavior, too. "Look, it's not you guys," I muttered, feeling all self-conscious. "I'm always like this."

He blinked at me. "Why?"

My initial response would have been a saucy 'why not?' However, he was taking the time to be nice to me, when in actuality he had the power to read me the riot act and jail me for who knew how long. And yet he wasn't bitching me out for breaking Prowl. If anything, the mech was concerned for my well-being. Which was odd in and of itself. No one had ever cared for my well-being in my life… save for Sam. Everyone else in my family had written me off as a failure or worse.

Great, now this guy—mech, whatever. God, I hated personal pronouns or titles or whatever. Why couldn't they just be guys and girls like the rest of us? But now this mech had me accessing painful memories I'd hidden from myself for a very good reason. Why did he need to know all this stuff, anyway? Wasn't it good enough that I could do what they asked? When it didn't revolve around social interaction or rules, that is.

I shrugged and then hunched my shoulders. "Just do. Hasn't really mattered in the past, anyway," I took a deep breath and let it out my mouth. "Look, if you need me to do a job, I'll do it. I've never failed to complete an assignment before. I'm just not good at people skills or following orders. It's a bad match, me and this unit. It's an even worse match to set me up with Prowl or this guy," I nodded in Magnus's direction. "He looks like a great soldier and dependable and all that shinny happy crap. I don't work well in a team setting."

"Have you ever tried?"

What was this, a therapy session? I tried glaring at the mech, hoping he'd get the hint and stop tap-dancing all over my raw emotions. Some things were personal and some things didn't need to be shared with anyone. Hell, there were a few things I wished to high heaven that I hadn't even shared with myself! He continued to stare at me, patiently waiting.

"Don't you have something better to do?" I snapped harshly.

"No." He answered, his voice as soft as mine was hard.

I blinked. "What do you mean, no? Come on, you're the freaking leader of these Autobot-type-people. You've got, like, a million things to do to take care of your people. Don't let me stand in the way of that."

"I'm not letting you stand in the way," he said calmly. "And I am tending to my people right now."

Okay, that touched a serious nerve in me. "Huh? Are you optics broken?" I asked, all pretense of being nice now gone. "I'm not an Autobot."

Over his shoulder, I saw Magnus grimace, optics narrowing in a hateful way in my direction. Apparently, he'd taken offense to my comment about Prime having a flaw. Good. Much like trying to goad Magnus into a fight, anger was something I was intimately familiar with. It was a feeling I could handle. This emotional outpouring crap wasn't my cup of tea. But Prime lifted one massive arm, palm outward, and Magnus took it as a sign to back off. My spirits sank. Verbally going rounds with Captain America-bot over there would have taken some of the sting off of this sharing of emotions or whatever it was.

"My optic sensors are functioning at normal capacity," Prime intoned, blinking at me again. "And you are a part of my, how did you put it, 'people' now."

"I signed up with _NEST_."

He nodded slightly. "Yes, and NEST was created to provide human support to our cause. By extension, that makes you one of our people."

"And you do this for every member of the NEST team?"

"Every member that needs it, yes."

I sighed, running fingers through my hair again. "Meaning I'm not getting out of here until you are satisfied with my answers."

Again, he simply nodded.

"Great," I huffed. "Just peachy. I'm holding up the whole show, keeping you prisoner here until I open up, huh?"

"No one keeps a Prime as a prisoner," Magnus grated out, mighty hands clenching and unclenching.

"Magnus," Prime warned, optics still focused on me. "Syrie, if I let you out of here, will you give me your word of honor that you will comply with the rules? That you will work with Ultra Magnus and not against him?"

For all the hell he was putting me through with this tour of my inner soul, I felt myself looking away. I did not want to lie to him for some reason. It would have been so easy, though, to say the words he wanted me to say. Then ditch Magnus at my first opportunity. But then I would lose my link to Sam. And lord knew what kind of trouble he'd get himself into with these guys.

"Is Prowl okay?" I surprised myself by asking.

"He is," Prime answered, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Why do you ask?"

"Feel bad about breaking him, that's all. He's a good guy, if a bit anal about his rules."

Prime leaned back, chuckling at that. "Prowl has a… unique perspective on logic. Though I am curious to know what it was you said to him to cause that kind of a malfunction."

What could I do? I shrugged and told them. And then found myself grinning in spite of myself when both mechs almost bent over laughing. Sometimes, it was good to have my "flawed" sense of humor.


	6. Chapter 6 Ultra Magnus

A/N: This next set of chapters are definitely for those that enjoy the Autobot Training Courses that all us authors like to write about but very few actually go into detail about. Mhahahhaha... I've often wondered what it would be like from the point of view of someone going through the course, instead of from the point of view of the bots watching. Hence, I decided that Syrie needed to run through one of those training sessions just to see what would happen. Needless to say, it's going to take more than one chapter to explain it all. I hope you enjoy the ride. I know I giggled my butt off when planning it all out.

I would like to give a huge shoutout and thanks to my new beta, Razorgaze. She's amazing, and an amazing author as well. Go check out her story "Our Debt." It's one of the best I've read so far. :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or anything related to them. I only own my OC's and am not making any money from this. Please don't sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Ever get the feeling that you just should have stayed in bed and not bothered to get up in that morning? Yeah, I'd been having that feeling a lot lately. Ever since I opened my eyes in Aprile's little private torture chamber.

It hadn't escaped my notice that nothing had been said to me about the creep in question. Was he dead? Did he escape the Autobot attack on his house of horrors? These were questions that inquiring minds—namely mine—were dying to know. I wasn't stupid enough to believe he thought me dead or had decided, out of the goodness of that black little hole in his chest he called a heart, to forgive me for breaking into his vault. Aprile was many things but generous was not one of them.

Actually, I take that back. He was very generous in one regard, and that was the age-old game of revenge. He gave out his anger and displeasure like most people gave out smiles. It was a chilling thought to say the least. And since the Powers That Be (Autobots and the human command officers) had decided letting me near any computer station, telephone, or other source of communication with the outside world was a supremely bad idea, I had no way of satisfying my curiosity. It wasn't a good idea to keep an international criminal from the information that kept her one step ahead of the law. Bad things tended to happen.

And because all those bad things went dancing around behind my eyes, I was so information-starved that I was seriously considering sending out smoke signals.

If it wasn't for the fact that Ultra Magnus was looming over my shoulder like some gigantic red, white and blue elementary school teacher, I would have hauled ass to the nearest beach and made like Pocahontas. But there he stood, arms folded neatly across his chest, daring me to so much as blink wrong in his direction. I had a feeling that if I tried to wipe my own nose at this point he would instantly transform his hand to that hateful tranq gun that Ratchet had programmed for him.

Personally, I think he was still annoyed with the conversation we'd had in the brig. Optimus had wisely left the two of us alone to sort out our differences. Apparently, he believed that the presence of energon bars between us would be enough to keep us from trying to kill each other. I smirked at he thought. My mouth was more of a weapon than any kind of gun or cannon my new Autobot employers could ever come up with. Hence, Ratchet having to be called in to keep Magnus from blowing a processor.

And, hence, the new modification that allowed Magnus to tranq me if I started to act up again. I hardly thought that was fair. But then again, I had broken Prowl once and had started a similar process in Magnus—and that was _WITH _energon bars between us. Ratchet had felt that it wasn't in either of our best interest to let our interaction continue without some means of shutting one of us down.

I wouldn't put money on the fact that I would make it more than two steps before I found myself kissing the pavement for a nice long nap if I tried to run. Given how he kept glaring at me, I amended those chances. I would probably make it half a step, if at all.

Glancing up at him, watching him glare daggers back down at me, I had to change my mind about calling him a teacher. The title 'teacher' implied that he had some sort of useful knowledge to pass on to me. He was more like the mean ol' principal handing out punishments instead of knowledge, and I was his personal Dennis the Menace. And I thought Prowl and I were a match made in hell.

I would have taken Prowl any day of the week over the Autobot version of Captain America over there.

"Keep up," Ironhide growled from behind me, one plated foot giving me the slightest tap in the ass. "Keep formation or get eliminated."

"What happens if I get eliminated?" I growled back at him, teeth clenched to keep me from saying what was really on my mind. It had something to do with him and trying to reproduce by himself, and it was certain to set Magnus off on a tranq-the-stupid-human spree.

"You have to do it again," Ironhide replied.

"Seriously?"

"With me chasing you instead," Magnus put in, a wicked glint in his optics. "You won't fail that time, trust me."

"Well aren't I the lucky one," I gritted out, running to catch up with the rest of the new recruits. I was seriously beginning to hate that mech.

I jingled and jangled my way up to the line with the rest of the poor slobs that made up my unit, trying not to grind my teeth into powder at the sound of it all. For some reason—and probably for his own perverse amusement—Magnus had decided that I should fall in line with the rest of the newly arrived NEST personnel. That included tramping out into field exercises like this one, complete with about eighty to ninety pounds of pure crap strapped to my body.

Okay, maybe crap was too harsh a word. It was the standard field equipment that all the grunts around here carried. Various ammo clips, canteens and ration bars; you know, just about everything a guy would need if stranded in battle for a day or three. But the problem I was having with it was that it hampered damn near EVERY skill I possessed. I was a bloody thief for crying out loud! I was _supposed _to be silent and stealthy. Fade in like a shadow, pilfer the items of interest, and fade out like smoke.

_You _tell me where a freaking M-16 rifle fit into that!

"Today, you recruits will be run through the standard obstacle course designed to imitate conditions when in live combat with the Decepticons," Major William Lennox announced, pulling me back from my internal grumblings.

The man was standing on top of some kind of platform that put him about waist high with Prime. And speaking of the bot in question, stood beside the Major, his optics scanned through the crowd. No doubt scanning faces and comparing them to their respective military files, making sure everything was in a nice, neat logical order. If I didn't know any better, I would think that the bot was actually a bit bored. But when his orbs got to me, I could have sworn for a moment that amusement filtered into his gaze. Amusement!

"Son of a blue-blooded bitch," I snarled quietly, but still loudly enough to have the troops around me casting annoyed or amused glances my way. "I knew it. Magnus set me up for this, and Prime _approved_ it. I'm so going to kick his shiny metal aft."

"Shhhssh!" snapped/whispered the man nearest to me. I knew him as Sergeant Allen Michaels, the resident shining star of our unit. Rumor had it that Epps was up for a promotion again and Michaels was gunning for his spot hard-core. "I'm not going to get my ass handed to me on the field because I couldn't hear what the Major was saying. Cool it, Witwicky!"

I flipped him the bird, earning a few quiet chuckles from some of the men. Allen made a disgusted sound and turned his attention back to our would-be boss. Like I honestly cared what he thought of me. My momentary distraction of annoying Allen gone, I begrudgingly turned my attention back to the Major as well. He was droning on about the fire power and maneuvering capabilities of some of the Decepticons, reviewing here and there past tactics that had worked against them.

I tried not to yawn and shift from foot to foot. Everything the man was verbally spewing at us was in the briefing packets we had been given the night before, up to and including which Autobot was going to play the part of which Decepticon in today's exercise. Some chippy named Arcee (who could apparently split herself into three parts—come on, how cool is that!) was filling the roles of Barricade, Blackout and Thundercracker. A bot named Sideswipe would fill the role of Starscream. And, of course, everyone's favorite cannon-blazing maniac was playing the part of Megatron.

That last part had taken me by surprise last night during my review of the material. Wasn't that jackhole dead? Why were we worrying about a bot that was taking a permanent dirt nap at the bottom of the Laurentian Abyss? I paid it little mind after that, preferring to concentrate on the things that could keep me alive and not what could end me like the rest of the dorks in my unit. Yes, to my ultimate annoyance and, again, probably to Magnus's delight, after being released from the brig and given one last checkup by Dr. Bot himself, the mech had dumped me in the barracks.

Dumped me in the _barracks_. Like some kind of general recruit. I was so going to make him pay for that one, too.

And while the rest of my erstwhile companions for the night were either cracking jokes or comparing notes about various decepticreeps, I focused my attention on the important things—the terrain and what it was made of. I knew that obstacle course like the back of my hand now, going so far as to memorize what metal made up which part of the run. One thing I had learned in my years as a master thief was this: Weapons and tools failed all the time and usually at the most inopportune moment. But terrain… that was always a constant. Once you learned that, you were never truly without the means to defend yourself.

What I hadn't counted on was being stuffed into all the useless gear and armor. Weighted down and my vision pretty much cut to one-third its normal capacity thanks to the retarded helmet, I knew this couldn't end well for me. At all.

"Gentlemen," Lennox was saying. "The course will begin in three minutes. To your places and good luck."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Just as I had predicted, the run was a complete and utter disaster. Thankfully, no one else faired any better than I.

I stormed off the course like a woman possessed. The target of my rage: one arrogantly chuckling mech named Ultra Magnus. No doubt he had enjoyed the entire show, watching every little screw-up and snafu as it unfolded around us. I had more bruises and cuts now than I ever had in my life, save for that incident in the Nevada desert with Aprile. And I was down-right furious about it.

The helmet was the first thing to go. It made a most satisfying _clunk_sound against the pavement, followed by that backpack full of shit. The armored vest went next, followed by the ammo belt, the various radio straps, the gun straps, the belt pouch straps… If it had a strap—and was connected to me—it ended up strewn across the ground as I stripped my way towards the waiting mech.

Each step was accompanied by a memory of the debacle formerly called our training run. There was the darkness, the night vision goggles that didn't fit right and were so grainy I couldn't see anything anyway. Next was the helmet covering my ears, impairing my ability to hear anything of import. Not to mention the attacks from behind and in front, causing people on either side of me to slam into my body and knock me around. I wasn't able to take aim with my gun even if I wanted to fire the clunky thing.

Which I couldn't have gotten off a round because the noise of so many weapons going raining ammo at once had practically rattled the teeth in my head. Allen was shouting orders, having been named our unit commander, and was making little to no sense with them. And I wasn't the only one that had that problem, either. There were a lot of grumblings from the unit as I stormed away from it. No one bothered to listen to Allen when he ordered them to restrain me.

Good. I didn't really want to end up back in the brig for clocking some innocent guy who was just following orders. Besides, I had some pay-back in mind for a special bot and I would have rather not had company when I executed the first portion of it.

"Enjoying the show?" I asked Ultra Magnus, voice laced with acidic honey.

"Immensely, thank you," Magnus replied, lip plates firmed into a smirk. "It has been a long time since I have laughed that hard."

"So glad I could amuse you, darling," I snarled, crossing my arms over my chest. "You and Prime did this on purpose."

He wasn't even going to deny it. I could see the fierce pride in those stupid glowing optics. "I did. You need to learn to work as a team with your fellow humans. Now put on your gear and join the rest of your unit for another run."

"Like. Bloody. Hell."

Magnus peeled himself off the wall he had been leaning against. "Excuse me? I gave you an order. It is to be obeyed."

"When did the word 'guardian' become synonymous with the word 'master?' I'm not your slave, buddy-boy. And I'm not going through that again. It's worthless and ridiculous and humiliating and I'm not doing it. Period. End of list."

The bot went down on all fours in the blink of an eye, his hands and knees hitting the asphalt hard enough to nearly crack it. The echo of it had heads whipping in our direction, both Autobot and human alike. Even Optimus had stopped his quiet conversation with Ratchet and Arcee to watch our little exchange.

Magnus leaned down until his face was as close to mine as he could get without scraping his chin on the concrete. Even then, his whole head was about two feet taller that my entire body. "You gave your word to our Prime that you would work with me. Are you going back on your word?"

I snorted. "I gave my word to work _with_ you, not _for_ you. See the difference, or do I have to spell it out in really big letters to get it through your thick processor?"

Magnus reared back, and I thought for a moment he was going to actually step on me or something. He looked that furious. "You have no respect for command levels or any honor for what your fellow humans go through to fight the enemy."

I rolled my eyes, the fingers of my hidden right hand toying with the one thing I hadn't dropped from my gear. There was a reason why my arms were crossed over my chest. Made it easier to hide certain things.

"Spare me the lecture on how I'm a piss-poor excuse for a warrior and all that. I don't have any pride in those kinds of skills because I don't possess any of them. And as for honor, I'm a thief. No room for that in my profession. So if that is the best insult you can come up with…"

"You signed the contract with your government, human—"

"Call me human like that again, asshole, and I'll start calling you bot all the time. I at least use your name… occasionally. I have a name, too, and it's Syrie. Use it or don't expect a response from me. I'm sick and tired of you treating me like one of the soldiers."

"You are one of the soliders now, or do I have to spell that out in really big letters to get it through your thick head, _Syrie_?" He put so much emphasis on my name that he almost turned the word into a curse.

I smirked. "Cute. But you are wrong, _Magnus_. I am not a soldier. I don't have those skills and your boss didn't make the deal of a lifetime to spend all his resources turning me into one. You want to know why he hired me?"

Magnus leaned down again, just as I wanted him to. I couldn't have arranged this any better if I had had a string tied to his head. No one tended to believe me when I said my mouth was by best weapon. Maybe he'd figure it out after this.

"And just why would he want a spineless coward of a human like you?" He growled.

I threw the flash grenade right into his huge metal face. The thing actually bounced off his nose plates before exploding with enough light to burn the retinas from my head. Thankfully I had turned away and was running halfway into the obstacle course by then. Magnus staggered back, cursing in his native language, I guess. I really didn't care to hear what he was saying. It was time to unleash part two of my plan.

"New game, Magnus, if you're bot enough for it, that is," I called from over my shoulder. "Hide and seek, baby boy. Catch me if you can."

And like that, the chase was on.


	7. Chapter 7 HidenSeek

A/N: Sorry this was so long in coming. It took me forever to try and write out this action scene from the first-person point of view! Even now I don't think it's come out just like I wanted it. Still, I don't think it's going to come out any better if I revamp it yet again. Thusly, here it is. Please be kind with the reviews even if it's poor. Writing action from the first person point of view can be really trying.

As always, I want to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, and made this story a favorite! :D That really makes my day when I see that. Thank you again and again for all your support.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or even dream of it. Please don't sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

This probably wasn't the best idea I'd ever had. I was willing to swallow enough of my pride to admit that. But what I wasn't ready to admit was defeat. I'd rather shoot myself in the head—or let Ironhide shoot me in the head, rather—than state to Magnus that maybe, possibly, throwing that grenade in his face was a mistake. Prideful, who me?

Not that I had a lot of time to contemplate that thought, mind you. For all his posturing and all his arrogance, I was learning the hard way that Magnuswas worth every bit of his reputation as a stagiest and a warrior. I bit my lips between my teeth, doing my best to breathe without using my mouth. That was harder than it looked, given that I was seriously winded. I had barely made it into one of the buildings in the training area before my wrist scanner had registered that he'd gotten a weapons lock on me. Oh, I'd kept that piece of equipment once I learned how it worked. I wasn't a complete idiot. I had kept the equipment on my body that I thought truly had merit. After today, I was fairly certain I would never live another moment without that scanner attached to my body.

The resounding holographic _BOOM!_let me know that a volley had quickly followed the target lock, and only the thickness of the concrete walls around me had saved my sorry ass. The building shook appropriately, and mechanisms released small catches of debris to simulate the fallout of a plasma blast across the front of the building. I had to dodge that crap fast, and grudgingly wished for a helmet of some kind. Not the bulky piece of crap I had on before, but some kind of head covering would have been appreciated. Apparently Magnus and I had something else in common: We tended to shoot first and ask forgiveness later.

Impact tremors radiated through the pavement, snapping me out of my mental whining. Magnus was on the move, determined to take me down in a hurry. I wasn't about to oblige him on that wish. If he wanted me, he was going to have to work for it. I shoved away from the wall, sprinting in my socks across the pavement. Combat boots were too heavy for this kind of work, giving away my movements with those clod-thumping sounds they made.

The impact tremors stopped and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Fuck. The bastard had probably kicked on his thermal scanning, reading my movements through the building. I had about a second to scramble up a pile of rubble and leap for a hanging piece of rebarprotruding from the concrete ceiling above me. I swung gymnastics style upward, my feet clearing the hole in the floor first and the rest of me following. Again, I was only about a second ahead of Magnus as a stream of holographic plasma flashed through the ground floor.

I didn't stop to hide this time. I ran, trying to get my bearings and recall everything I had learned about the course the night before. We had entered from the southwest, so that meant…

Shattered plate glass stuck out like jagged teeth in the gaping maw of a large picture window. I ran for it, leaping through it arms-first to land on the rickety fire escape. Pain burned across my side like wildfire, a long clean slice down my ribs from armpit to hip from the shards. I did my best to ignore it, wincing only slightly as the fire escape rocked from my impact. The rusty iron groaned, the screws used to set it against the crumbling brick façade of the building rocking in their sockets.

This was going to require crackerjack timing. I could already hear the approaching thumps of Magnus's footfalls against the pavement. He was coming, and I had to be across the street before he reached me or it was game over. I braced my foot against the far railing of the fire escape and shoved with all my strength at the wall. Iron made its metallic cry as it ripped and twisted free of the brackets. I had a moment to see Magnus staring at me with wide optics from down the street before the entire fire escape wrenched free of the side of the building.

I flashed him a one-figured salute and rode the metal carcass down and against the neighboring building. We collided, and I spilled through the nearest open window. I tried to roll with the impact, managing to burn off most of the kenetic energy of my rapid fall. It was still enough to nearly knock the breath out of me. Scrambling to my feet was harder than it should have been, but I wasn't going to take the time out to think about why.

The object of my desire was just a level or two above me, and there was plenty in this building to help. I ran for the stairs, pausing only long enough to engage the space heaters in the room as I did. I had to give credit to whomever designed this particular simulation. They had spared no expense in adding realistic props and bits to the place. Like the space heaters for an old building without central heating. Maybe there was something to this whole marine approach after all. If they had put this kind of thought into an exercise, then maybe, possibly, they were training us to use not just the weapons on us but the most unlikely of weapons all around. I turned those bad-boys up to maximum, hoping it would be enough to at least dull down the thermal imaging programs in Magnus's optics.

It worked. And it didn't.

Apparently I had forgotten one major rule when dealing with Autobtos and Decepticons: their size and strength. Since Magnus was a) playing a badguy without regard to human life and b) couldn't see or reach me inside the building, he had decided to just rip the building out of the way, layer by bloody layer.

"You've got to be kidding me," I uttered numbly, feeling the building shaking beneath my feet. "You've just got to be kidding me."

If I thought I had run for my life before, I was horribly wrong. I ran like the wind, like the hounds of hell were after me, like it was the last thing I was ever going to be able to do. I had to get to the fourth floor and the prize. There was rebar up there, as well as a catch of grenades left over from some poor recruit that had managed to make it this far before being blasted during a training exercise. Apparently scavenging your fellow teammate's remains was allowed in these kinds of training drills, so the dropped items were left behind for the next team. I had been certain to memorize details like that the night before when studying.

So much for the whole 'honor among comrades' thing. I guess it wasn't stealing if the person in question was no longer breathing. I made a mental note to ask Magnus about that later… if I had a later in my future and if he was willing to speak to me after this. That was an awful lot of 'if's,' even for me.

Again, I pushed that aside and made for the fourth floor. I reached it at about the time Magnushad decided to stop ripping up the sidewalls and start on the roof. That left about two stores above me before he was going to find me. I had to work fast. I popped open one of the so-called 'grenades,' doing my best to keep the red paint from getting on me. The viscous liquid was poured over one end of the rebar, pooling around them like a rather disturbing puddle of, well, blood.

I tried not to ponder that too much.

The space heaters were doing their job, I noted, as Magnus hadn't shifted his attack from one side of the room to the other as I gathered what I could. Which was perfect. Now all I had to do was wait, and look for the perfect moment to strike. When you havea couple of hundred tons of pissed off alien robot tearing the building apart above you, that's a helluva lot harder than it sounds. Trust me.

Magnuswasn't being methodical about his destruction. He had, from what I could tell, chosen a spot at random and just started digging. I wasn't sure if that was because of the part he was playing, or if he really didn't give a damn how he got to me, only that he did.

"Syrie!" he boomed out, his voice rocking the structure harder than his hands. "End this now!"

Oh, I was going to oblige him, alright. This _was_ going to end rather quickly. All he had to do was… yup, he did it. The building swayed as he hit a main support pillar, and I took the opportunity to dash up the steps on the far side of the room. He didn't register my movements in all the falling debris, or the fact that I had popped up on what was left of the fifth floor. In fact, he didn't register much of anything until the first grenade hit him in the side of the head.

Red paint splattered against his white helm, a look of shock and horror filling his metallic face. That was, until the protocols of the simulation took over and that part of his face became immobile. The light in one optic went out. I didn't have time to see much else, being as I was doing the one thing that he had expected me not to do. I ran straight at him.

Without the heavy combat pack and other "necessary" stuff to weigh me down, I lept and climbed up on anything I could get a foot or a free hand onto. Magnus's hands tracked to the left and right, what was left of his face contorting with a look of disgust and… alarm? Maybe the protocols that simulated injuries to the Autobots had shut down a system that he needed?

Whatever the reasons, I felt only slightly bad about taking advantage of his confusion. I lept onto his shoulder and slammed the end of my paint-coated rebarinto his neck joint. The length of his left arm shut down all save for the hand. His right arm reached across, trying to grab me. I dodged around the back of his head and repeated the rebar stabbing until his right arm hung useless at his side.

And that was when he pitched his torso forward… and my socking feet lost their purchase. I tumbled forward. With all the red paint everywhere, his armor had become a slick death trap. I just couldn't get a handhold anywhere. My eyes snapped closed and I tried not to envision the pain of landing flat on my back on what was left of the concrete fifth floor. It was going to hurt. A lot.

So imagine my surprise when my impromptu descent into agony was interrupted. My body did its impression of a fly smacking into a windshield, but without the messy blood and guts thing. And instead of a windshield, I landed in a silver armored hand. I cracked open an eye, surprised to see Optimus Prime glaring down at me.

"Before you start yelling," I spit out quickly. "I just managed to do what three teams of your military boys couldn't even begin to do. I took out a mech."

"What you did…" Prime began, and then the annoyance in his voice and face trailed off abruptly.

I felt a prickling sensation across my skin, knowing it to be a scan by now. Prowl and Magnus were always scanning me these days, though Prowl did it to ensure I hadn't fallen back on old habits and was robbing the place blind. Magnus was always checking me for weapons. He made no fuss about being that direct about it. But this scan was different. It felt like it went all the way down to my bones.

"Do not move," Optimus stated, the command in his voice peppered with concern. "I have signaled for medical assistance."

I must have looked at him like he was off his rocker. "What, this?" I held up a paint-coated hand. "It's paint from the grenades, dude. I'm fine. I…"

You know, now that I was looking at the 'paint,' I was beginning to notice how realistic it looked. It was even beginning to dry in some portions, becoming thick and sticky almost like real blood… It's a funny thing that happens to a person when they start to take mental inventory of their bodies. Pain that you would have heretofore ignored or never even noticed started to sing out louder than you could imagine.

My left side blazed in utter agony, and I realized I wasn't just panting and sputtering from my fight with Magnus, I couldn't seem to catch my breath… at all. In fact, the saliva I was currently sputtering out had a red tinge to it.

"Oh, hell," I whispered, breathing shallowly. "Um, boss-bot? Not to be a pain but I'm about to have a full-blown panic attack. I can't breathe."

"I told you to remain still," he repeated, lifting me up to eye level with him. "Your left lung is about to collapse."

My eyes opened so wide I almost though the orbs would roll out of my head. "Why?"

He was quiet a moment, as if trying to figure how to tell me something rather nasty. Thankfully, the King of Mean and Nasty saved him from that little verbal exercise.

"Because you have a large shard of glass wedged between your third and forth rib," Ratchet snapped, glancing up a me for a second before turning back to repairing Magnus.

I thought back to my flight through that plate glass window and the almost scalpel-sharp pain in my side as I went through it. "Oh, I didn't really surprise you when you saw me ride the fire escape down, huh?"

Magnus looked like he was torn between picking me up and throttling me soundly, or if he wanted to rush me to the nearest medic, himself. I had never seen such a look of worry on anyone's face, at least not where I was concerned. He genuinely looked like he was going to jump out of his armor if I wasn't tended to immediately. So much so that Ratchet gave him a look that said he would face more than reprogramming if he so much as made a move towards me.

"You surprised me," the big mech admitted, looking slightly bizarre as that crystal clear voice came from a half-working face.

The pain in my side increased, and I fought not to curl up in the fetal position. It was beginning to hurt just to breathe. Just how badly had I injured myself this time? "But you weren't chasing me down because of that," I gasped out, coughing up some more red stuff. I steadfastly refused to call it blood. I didn't want to acknowledge that right now. The last thing I needed to do was panic, and believe you me, I would panic if I was coughing up blood.

"No, I was concerned for you. I saw the glass go into your venting system. I wanted to retrieve you for repair."

If I wasn't fighting down the rising panic inside my chest, I think I might have been embarrassed about my actions. "Oh," I coughed out, the sound more wet that dry. Not a good sign. "Sorry. Uh, Ratchet… um, owie. Help? I, uh, I'm going to black out. I can't breathe."

Magnus came back to full action in that moment. And just as quickly, the burning pain in my side enveloped my chest and squeezed my heart in an iron vice. I opened my mouth to scream, and only managed to gasp for air.

"Frag it," Ratchet snarled. "The lung has collapsed. Hold still. This is going to hurt."

I tried to remind him that I had already reached my quota of hurt for the day, thank you very much. But my lips weren't working in conjunction with my brain thanks to the no-go of oxygen from my lungs. Instead I was treated to a first-hand account of that scene from Pulp Fiction. You know the one I'm talking about, right? The one where John Travolta slams the needle full of adrenaline into Uma Thurman's heart? Well, I got to experience something similar.

As in watching Ratchet's index finger transform into a long-ass needle. Which he stabbed down into my chest. It punctured my already punctured lung, and then detached from his finger. Instantly air rushed into that needle-like pipe, my lung inflating like a balloon. I could breathe again. What was the first thing I did?

"Oh bloody hell that _HURT_!" I shrieked. Okay, not the most eloquent of things. But hey, at least I was honest.

At the same time Ratchet's other hand simultaneously removed the glass shard and applied some kind of sealant to the tissues there. Not many people get the joy of experiencing the feeling of someone applying goop to their exposed internal organs. For some reason, that didn't strike me as a bonus.

Optimus's fingers had transformed into a series of clamps, holding my body ridged against his palm while Ratchet cleaned and sealed my wounds. And before I could utter another string of sweetly composed words at the top of my lungs, the crafty medic stuck me with a needle again. This one was much smaller, and had the kind effect of pumping me full of something warm and lulling.

The pain melted away. And so did my conscious thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8 Ratchet

A/N: This is going to be my standard opening for a while. The pain is still too close. I want to apologize for the long wait on some of my stories. I recently lost a good friend of mine and fellow fanfic writer and the loss was much harder than I anticipated. It really stunted whatever creative power I had and left me in a state of much sorrow. It's hard to realize just how much people influence our lives and our passions until they are no longer there. For the next while all my stories are going to be dedicated to her.

**AJ. I will miss you. I will miss you and your laughing encouragement more than I can ever say. This one is for you.**

Special thanks to Razorgaze as my Beta, and Hummergrey for her constant friendship during this sad time. You both render me speechless with your skills, friendship and dedication. Please check out their fics. The links are in my profile page.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC's. I am not making any money from this. Please do not sue.

* * *

One of these days, I was going to learn not to panic when I woke up in the hospital.

At least I told myself that as conscious thought returned, dragging with it the nagging feeling that I shouldn't be flat on my back. The fact that substance beneath my back was soft and yielding, warm to the touch and brimming with that clean and somehow soothing scent of bleach didn't help to ward off the rising panic. That was part and parcel of the not-so-fun side of being a wanted criminal. Waking up in a place you know you shouldn't be usually indicated you'd been caught doing what you shouldn't have been doing in the first place.

Waking up in Ratchet's med bay wasn't an exception to that rule. Not even by a long shot.

I tried to take stock of the situation as quickly as I could. Forewarned was forearmed after all. There wasn't much to see that I hadn't seen before, and somehow that knowledge didn't lend itself to comforting me. I was snuggled into the standard human-sized hospital bed, complete with the standard metal railings, though absent the standard metal handcuffs to indicate I had been arrested. Small blessing, right? Standard medical equipment beeped and buzzed above my head.

"Why am I here?" I asked aloud after clearing my throat. There wasn't a good reason to pretend to be asleep. I could hear the monitors above me changing their beeping pattern, indicating that my heart rate had elevated. Kind of hard to pretend to sleep after that.

"I would think that was obvious," Ratchet replied from somewhere over to my left.

Great. Of all the doctors in the universe, I happened to land the one whose bedside manner rivaled my grasp of civilized conversation. "Cute," I smirked. "But hardly helpful. Seriously, why am I here?"

The ensuing silence let me know that he had stopped whatever it was that he was doing and was probably staring at me. A glance in that direction let me know I was right. He was staring at me, alright, with a thoughtful look in those optics of his. "Where else would you expect to be?"

"The brig, for one," I grunted, rolling over on my side—the one that didn't feel like it had been doused in gasoline and had lit matches gleefully flung at it. "Possibly the morgue for another."

Dr. Bot snorted, which was a little odd considering he didn't have nasal passages to snort with. At least, I assumed he didn't. I assumed I was supposed to appreciate the fact that he had adopted some human mannerisms like that. Maybe he did it to make me feel more at ease? Maybe he did it because he thought it was funny? Who knew with these guys.

Still, I had to admit that it was sorta comforting to see familiar gestures in what was otherwise a total mind-fuck of a situation.

"At least we agree on one point," he quipped, moving from his table o' medical tools and back over in my direction. He pinned me with a rather pointed stare. "The brig is where you belong after a stunt like that, and you know it."

I shrugged my shoulder, looking away. What could I say to that? He was right. "I lost my temper."

"Is that your official excuse or some form of apology I am unfamiliar with?"

"Uh, both?" I replied, lifting my eyebrows in what I hoped was an innocent expression.

Again, he snorted, one blunt-tipped finger about the size of my whole body pushing with surprising gentleness on my uninjured shoulder, indicating that I should lay back. I did as he prompted, staring at the ceiling and trying to tell myself that this was no different than any other doctor appointment I'd had in my life. I should not feel creeped out by the fact an alien was checking my wounds. I should not feel like I should be scared of him accidentally … I don't know… grafting my intestines to my lungs or something like that.

I had to have faith that he knew what he was doing. And that faith was rewarded as the burning sensation that had plagued me since waking was suddenly dulled down to an acceptable level. I let muscles relax that I had no idea I'd been tensing. Okay, maybe I could start to like this guy. Maybe enough to use his real name instead of the kind-of demeaning Dr. Bot.

"Slight infection," Ratchet said aloud, probably for my benefit. "More than likely caused by the bacteria collected on that plate glass window you thought would be fun to dive through. I have administered antibiotics and a topical pain reliever. The swelling should reduce momentarily."

"Thanks, Doc," I said and meant it. The pain was already almost non-existent. "Any idea when I could get out of here?"

He gave me what I considered the universal doctor's look—the one that stated clearly that I was at his tender mercies and should probably shut up and make with the healing instead of wasting his time with useless questions. And then he turned back to his work, pretty much content to ignore me again. I got the impression that he did that a lot – the ignoring the troubling questions bit. It was somehow comforting to know that even a race of alien robots had its fair share of problematic patients.

I sighed, suppressing a sudden yawn. "Let me guess," I deadpanned. "I get out of here when and only when you think I should be out of here and not a moment sooner. So stop wasting your time, right?"

The universal doctor's look turned into a kind of smirk. "And Magnus said you couldn't be taught."

"Magnus says a lot of things," I smirked back. "Doesn't mean he's always right."

"Doesn't mean he's always wrong, either."

"That, my good doctor, is a matter of opinion."

"Considering that I've known him longer than your race has been in existence, I think my opinion matters the most."

Again, I couldn't argue with that. So I didn't. I stifled another yawn instead. "So, if you've known him so long, why is he such a jerk?"

Ratchet almost dropped the tool in his hands, turning a withering look in my direction. "I would hardly call him that. Ultra Magnus is an honored and valued member of our faction. He is a great warrior and you should be honored to learn from him."

"Ratchet, I don't know what you know about me, but one of my many talents is to smell bullshit a mile away. That's not what I asked and you know it," I replied, shifting slightly so I could see him better. "Now that you've towed the party line and given me the official statement about Magnus, I want to know the truth. If you're bound by some kind of friendship confidentiality, that's fine. I won't pry. But if you could tell me something about him – something that would help me figure out how to get through to him without the use of physical violence – that would be a huge help."

Ratchet put his tool down again, giving me his undivided attention. Something akin to curiosity replaced the hostile doctor look in his optics. "What do you want to know?"

"Let's start with why he hates me."

Ratchet almost rolled his optics at my question, and then stopped when he realized I was being serious. "Let me answer your question with a question: why do you go out of your way to anger him?"

"I'm not!" I protested rather vehemently, wincing only slightly as my side started to ache again. "I'm simply reacting to the way he's treating me."

The medic merely lifted his optic guards slightly. "Really? And you don't think he is doing the same?"

"Not in the slightest. When I have I given him reason to treat me like a slave?"

"When have you given him reason to let you have your freedom?"

"I wasn't aware I needed to give him a reason to grant me what is mine by right."

The snort he gave had a rather disgusted sound to it. "If you are going to continue to be this thick-headed, then our conversation is over. I am not here to take your side on things, or confirm that you are correct to sooth your troubled conscience. You know very well what you did was wrong. So I will give you this little piece of advice. Until you acknowledge your own faults, you are never going to be seen as more than a troublemaker. By him, and by the rest of us."

~*~*~*~*~*~

For being one of the most open and helpful of the Autobots on Diego Garcia, Ratchet sure had a strong way to shut someone down. I'd almost call it an art form, honestly. He'd been constantly ignoring me since our not-too-productive conversation that morning, responding to any of my demands with either applying the appropriate medicines or walking in the other direction to work on something else.

That left me a lot of time to do absolutely nothing. And that left me all the time in the world to ponder what he'd said.

I didn't want to believe that Ratchet was right, that all this was somehow my fault. Well, not all of it. I mean, Magnus _could_ have been a little nicer to me from the get-go. Then again, I could have been nicer to him, too. Calling him names and then throwing a grenade in his face wasn't my best attempt to befriend him. And the more I thought about our little private romp through the obstacle course, the more I began to agree with Ratchet.

This was _mostly_ my fault.

My brain kept going back to that moment on the fire escape. I saw him staring at me, watching with what I had assumed was annoyance as I rode the thing like an iron horse down and across to the nearest building. Looking back, I think I misinterpreted that look as anger when it was really concern. There I was, giving him the one-figured salute and smirking like I was the queen of the world, with a huge shard of glass embedded into my ribs. His powerful optics had not only detected the shard, but his processors had probably estimated the amount of time I had before that shard punctured a lung… or worse.

He hadn't been trying to catch me to complete our game. He had been trying to save me.

I ran all manner of possible outcomes to that situation around in my head just to be certain. I didn't want to give him more credit that he deserved, at least my pride wouldn't let me do that. And yet each time I circled around to that moment on the fire escape, the only logical conclusion my brain would allow was that Magnus had, indeed, been fighting to save my life.

I was such an idiot. And that thought chased round and around in my brain until the medicines sent me back off to sleep. Needless to say, the combination of heavy thinking and heavier drugs made for seriously uncomfortable dreams. I kept seeing our fight played out in the landscape of my subconscious, watching as I rode the fire escape in slow motion. I had all the time in the world to watch Magnus stare at me, watching the play of emotions crossing his metallic face.

In some of the dreams, he watched me fall to my death. In others, he laughed. And yet in most of them, he threw himself down beneath the fire escape, landing on a field of glass shards that somehow cut him to shreds. I watched him bleed out and die by the time the fire escape and I landed on his chest plate, the light in his blue optics winking out for the final time.

There was no Optimus to help me, no Ratchet to put him back together. And in those dreams, I cried.

I cried because he had tried to _save_ me. Tried to save _me_! And lost his own life in the process. No one had ever given a shit about me, and never to this level.

So imagine my surprise when I opened my eyes again and found Ultra Magnus staring down at me. All sense of pride fled me, and I about threw myself from the bed and in his direction. I felt my wounds reopen with the sudden action, but really couldn't bring myself to care too much.

"You're alive!" I all but screamed at him.

His huge hands wrapped around me like I was some precious, fragile tea cup and he an unbalanced oaf. "Ratchet!" he bellowed, staring at me with wide optics. "Ratchet, the human is leaking fluids again, this time from her side and her eyes."

Leaking fluid from my eyes? I swiped at them with my hands, terrified that I'd find blood or worse on my fingers. There was only the clear saltiness of my tears. I was crying. Crying for the mech that hours ago I never wanted to see again.

"No," I managed to laugh out. "No, Magnus, I'm fine. Listen, I want to apol—"

My attempt at reassuring my robotic babysitter only served to enflame his worry. "Ratchet! Come quickly, something is amiss with her processors, too! She is using my name and smiling. This femme is hurt worse than we thought!"

Okay, I deserved that one. "Magnus, will you calm down? Yeah, I'm bleeding but I'm going to be fine. Will you just set me down and listen?"

He set me down, alright, rather rapidly. Into Ratchet's open palms. From the look that the two were exchanging, I knew I wasn't going to get in a word edgewise until they were both satisfied that was fine. I had a feeling it was going to be a long wait.


End file.
